


Rack

by omg_wtf_yeah



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omg_wtf_yeah/pseuds/omg_wtf_yeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Battlestar Galactica, Sam Anders/Kara Thrace, bunk, fingers<br/>Exactly what it sounds like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rack

“Frak yeah,” Sam says, the corners of his mouth upturned.

“Frak yeah?” Kara says, laughing against his lips, “Frak yeah? Frak me.” It sounds like an order or a dare. She redirects his hand into her flightsuit, pushing up on her toes and pulling him down so their mouths meet, teeth and tongues and the taste of liquor. Kara’s a little more than human, a burst of pure energy, a hundred thousand explosions, she’s a solar flare.

Kara’s warm and wet beneath his fingers and a jolt of passion surges through Sam’s body. She crowds him and he lands in her bunk with a soft thump, his head knocking against the back wall, and she climbs onto him, his fingers flirting with her slick sex. “Wow, Anders,” she says with a throaty laugh, “you call that a solid defense? That was pathetic. No wonder the Buccaneers sucked.”

As she speaks, she rises up and lowers herself, his fingers sliding between the folds of her sex. Her spine bows as she sinks onto them, her groan elemental. Her blonde hair falls over her face, across her furrowed brow and wide, flushed mouth. Her nipples are hard beneath the thin fabric of her bandeau bra.

Any response Sam was working on disappears in the wave of the arousal that washes over him. Kara’s slippery and tight around his fingers, working her body against Sam’s fingers in whatever way works for her. His heart hammers as she rides his fingers hard, pressing her palms flat to the bunk above her. Her breasts bounce in her sports bra and her lips curl, fierce and absent-minded with pleasure. Before they’d done this the first time, he wouldn’t have expected her to mewl, high breathy gasps as her body works on his fingers but she does.

She whimpers, pressing herself down on him, the muscles in her thigh jumping beneath Sam’s other hand. She opens herself up, spreading her legs, and she’s wetter, hotter, on fire under Sam’s fingertips.

He finds the hard nub in her folds and presses hard. She whines, her reddened lips twisting and her hips jerking. Sam does it again, pushing his fingertips over her, loving the decadent slickness of her sex. “If my defense is no good, how about my assists?” he asks.

Kara swallows down a moan and says, “If all I’d wanted was a handjob, I could’ve stayed in my rack on my own.”

Sam chuckles softly. “You seemed to be having such a good time, I didn’t want to stop you.”

Kara snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself, Anders. You’re not that good.” She tugs her flightsuit off and unbuckles Sam’s suit. “C’mon, Sam, do you need an engraved invitation?” She sinks down on Sam’s length with a moan and gritted teeth. “Lords of Kobol!”

Sam can’t restrain what sounds a lot like a giggle at Kara’s exclamation. In the next second, Kara’s riding him slow but hard and Sam groans. “Lords of Kobol!” he moans. Kara was never one for defensive play – her forward offense is stellar, though.


End file.
